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| Letters From London |
| Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics |
Don't Judge a Book by Lookin' at the Cover - 20 April 2009
Frizzy, frumpy, furry and fixed? When the now more famous than god, the iconic, the archetypal,
the answer to the economic nightmare Susan Boyle stood on the Britain’s Got Talent stage - the
judges sneered and the lip-curled-in-repulsion audience knew exactly how to respond to a middle-
aged, beige-lace frocked, heavily eye-browed woman. Curious that. She could have been
anybody’s auntie, granny or nun. So why the distain? Why the revulsion? Why the sick-bags at
hand?
It has been noted that Simon Cowell ‘knew’ about Miss Boyle two weeks before her now
celebrated appearance; he had seen her in her ‘natural’ state so he was prepared to recoil at the
site of the hideously natural Miss Boyle. But how exactly did the audience know to shrink in
repulsion…laugh…jeer? Surely they hadn’t seen her before she pleaded I Dreamed a Dream. A
bit suspicious I’d say.
Nevertheless Miss Boyle’s entire existence has changed after apparently a life of ridicule. A loss
of oxygen at birth set the stage as it were. Clearly Miss Boyle has been and continues to be a
massive metaphysical source of projection be it bullying, taunting, mocking…collective guilt.
Journalists have dissected endlessly about how and why the public have embraced the authentic
in favour of the fatuous. However it has been the celebrities who have been streaming endless
tears. “Ohmygod! Where are the breasts? The botox? The nose job? The cheekbones? The
chin? The lyposuction? The hair extentions? What is this creature? Schedule a make-over ASAP
and she can become one of us.” The ironic mass Faustian inevitability.
Just when you think the bona fide, genuine, real has stepped out into the spotlight, Demi Moore,
Oprah, Larry King, Hollywood… (Boylewood?) have rushed in with their ‘discovery’. “She has a
cat named Pebbles. How cute is that?” “Do you think she uses deodorant? I hope not.” “Don’t let
her near a comb.” “She’s so frumpy and …you know… what is that word? Authentic.”
Bo Diddley sang it as only Bo Diddley could: “You can’t judge an apple by lookin’ at the tree, you
can’t judge honey by lookin’ at the bee, you can’t judge a daughter by lookin’ at the mother - you
can’t judge a book by lookin’ at the cover. Oh can’t you see, oohh you misjudged me. I look like a
farmer, but I’m a lover – you can’t judge a book by lookin’ at the cover. Ohhhh ow….”
Frizzy, frumpy, furry and fixed? When the now more famous than god, the iconic, the archetypal,
the answer to the economic nightmare Susan Boyle stood on the Britain’s Got Talent stage - the
judges sneered and the lip-curled-in-repulsion audience knew exactly how to respond to a middle-
aged, beige-lace frocked, heavily eye-browed woman. Curious that. She could have been
anybody’s auntie, granny or nun. So why the distain? Why the revulsion? Why the sick-bags at
hand?
It has been noted that Simon Cowell ‘knew’ about Miss Boyle two weeks before her now
celebrated appearance; he had seen her in her ‘natural’ state so he was prepared to recoil at the
site of the hideously natural Miss Boyle. But how exactly did the audience know to shrink in
repulsion…laugh…jeer? Surely they hadn’t seen her before she pleaded I Dreamed a Dream. A
bit suspicious I’d say.
Nevertheless Miss Boyle’s entire existence has changed after apparently a life of ridicule. A loss
of oxygen at birth set the stage as it were. Clearly Miss Boyle has been and continues to be a
massive metaphysical source of projection be it bullying, taunting, mocking…collective guilt.
Journalists have dissected endlessly about how and why the public have embraced the authentic
in favour of the fatuous. However it has been the celebrities who have been streaming endless
tears. “Ohmygod! Where are the breasts? The botox? The nose job? The cheekbones? The
chin? The lyposuction? The hair extentions? What is this creature? Schedule a make-over ASAP
and she can become one of us.” The ironic mass Faustian inevitability.
Just when you think the bona fide, genuine, real has stepped out into the spotlight, Demi Moore,
Oprah, Larry King, Hollywood… (Boylewood?) have rushed in with their ‘discovery’. “She has a
cat named Pebbles. How cute is that?” “Do you think she uses deodorant? I hope not.” “Don’t let
her near a comb.” “She’s so frumpy and …you know… what is that word? Authentic.”
Bo Diddley sang it as only Bo Diddley could: “You can’t judge an apple by lookin’ at the tree, you
can’t judge honey by lookin’ at the bee, you can’t judge a daughter by lookin’ at the mother - you
can’t judge a book by lookin’ at the cover. Oh can’t you see, oohh you misjudged me. I look like a
farmer, but I’m a lover – you can’t judge a book by lookin’ at the cover. Ohhhh ow….”
